


What do you mean, pregnant?

by DenaCeleste



Series: What do you mean, pregnant? [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety Issues, Banter, Humor, M/M, Mates, Morning Sickness, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Snark, Triad - Freeform, finding out, freaking out, slight daddy kink, slight power exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 05:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5404067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste/pseuds/DenaCeleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4655997">I am pregnant, not brain damaged!</a>, Stiles finds out about his new condition. </p><p>Why do these things always happen to Stiles? He's not thrilled with this new magical surprise, especially given the direction his morning sickness took. Thankfully, he has the support of his family to help him through the rough spots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What do you mean, pregnant?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XCuteAsHale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XCuteAsHale/gifts).



> To Mysenia, who prompted the initial story that this one sprang from. Thank you, lovely one! You are a brilliant friend and support to me. <3 
> 
> To my Cutie, who requested rather fervently for a prequel to "I am pregnant, not brain damaged!"...and a sequel! Which will come at some point, I'm sure. Tusen takk, min kjære! Your support and enthusiasm is always inspirational!
> 
>    
>  **Unless otherwise stated, all works are unbetaed. Please no public concrit. Please keep comments positive. Any private concrit can be directed to my Tumblr ask box.**

Stiles slapped a hand over his mouth and nose. His eyes stung with tears and the scent in the room made his gorge rise. He sprinted for the bathroom, tripped over an uneven tile, and slid the rest of the way to the toilet on his knees.

 

“Baby? What’s wrong?” Peter asked, concern darkening his voice as he stepped into the room.

 

Stiles shook his head, heaved again, and shivered as a hand cupped its way around his forehead. “What the hell,” he panted, “was that smell?”

 

“You nearly projectile vomited because of dinner?” Incredulous though he sounded, that was nothing to the sudden remembrance that dinner was supposed to be...

 

“I thought you were getting me curly fries and some form of protein. What happened? Were they closed? Did you have to get roadkill instead?” Stiles staggered to his feet, Peter’s hand at his elbow, and flushed the toilet. They walked to the sink where Stiles rinsed his mouth, spat, and repeated the process.

 

“Sweetheart, that’s what was in the kitchen. What you smelled.” Peter pressed a hand to Stiles’ forehead, frowned. “Chris! Get in here!”

 

Chris wandered in, brow furrowed. “What’s going on? You okay Stiles?”

 

“Does he have a fever? I don’t think he has a fever. Have you felt okay, baby?” Peter rambled on before shutting his mouth with a click of teeth.

 

Stiles grimaced. “I’ve felt kind of weird, but there’s some kind of creeping crud going around the campus. Stress and exams and all. It’s probably that. Though, admittedly, the vomiting is a bit much.”

 

“Maybe we should go see Deaton?” Chris offered. “Or Melissa?”

 

Peter grimaced, shrugged, nodded. “Deaton would probably be the one to know best what this could be. I mean, he threw up over the scent of curly fries. I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

 

“I’ve never done that before,” Stiles croaked out. He rinsed his mouth out again, straightened, then grabbed for his mates. “Shit. I’m so dizzy, what the fuck?”

 

Peter and Chris eyed Stiles, then each other. “Deaton,” they agreed.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

“Well, Stiles, after going over your symptoms, and running that scan...congratulations. You’re pregnant.” Deaton had that blank, almost-pleasant look on his face that he had in most situations that were going to hell.

 

“What do you mean, pregnant? I’m a guy. Guys don’t do that.” He struggled to keep his breathing even, but his heart wanted to beat out of his chest. He pressed a hand against it and blinked away the tears of panic that gathered in his eyes.

 

“That’s not...entirely accurate.” Peter seemed to choose his words carefully. “I recall...something about a triumvirate?”

 

“Ah, yes,” Deaton said, and Stiles wanted to shove the light bulb that practically dinged over his head right up his-- “the triumvirate. I forgot about that theory.”

 

“Anyone want to clue in the _fucking pregnant man_ here about this theory? Hm?” Stiles tap-stabbed his fingers against the metal table he was trapped on, what with Peter on one side and Chris on the other.

 

“It’s a theory that when three beings of power, in this case a spark, a werewolf, and a human, come together, it can create large changes. Magically speaking.” Deaton gestured at him. “Usually it was about power, pure ability, but then, most triumvirates were politically motivated.”

 

“Humans are considered beings of power?” Chris sounded so incredulous,  but Stiles was sitting there _with child_ , and had to keep himself from laughing hysterically.

 

Emphasis on the hysteria, because fuck his life.

 

“Human willpower has long been considered a strong guide for magic. Hence why not every magic practitioner is a spark--”

 

“Yes, yes, but what does that mean for me?” Stiles interrupted, and Deaton gave him a dirty look.

 

“It means that because of your relationship with Peter and Chris, you gained the ability to have a child.” Deaton’s snarky tone grated on his nerves.

 

“Great. Just...just great.” Stiles shook Peter’s hand off of his shoulder, did the same with Chris’ hand at his side. His stomach roiled, and he was afraid he’d puke again if he had to sit there for one more fucking minute. “Let me get dressed. Then get me the fuck out of here. Deaton, thanks for your help. If you can add to this information, email me.”

 

By himself, Stiles slid on his pants. Before he tugged his shirt down though, he had to. He had to look. Touch. He rubbed a hand across his still flat belly. Wondered what would happen. He felt nothing, really, just kind of sick. Though now he wasn’t sure if it was because of the news, or because of his condition.

 

“Guess it’s gonna be a learning curve for me,” he whispered and struggled not to bite through his lip. “Shit.”

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

The car ride home was the most uncomfortable Stiles had ever been. And that was saying something, given some of the car experiences he’d had since Supernatural: The Musical Massacre took over Beacon Hills.

 

When they stepped into the house, Chris in front, Peter behind, Stiles walked straight for the kitchen. He glared at the whiskey, because that’s what he wanted to do. He wanted some Jack to make all the bad things go away.

 

“You really sho--” Chris began, but stopped when Stiles whipped around to glare at him.

 

“I know. No caffeine. No alcohol. No shrimp. No lots of things, I’m sure, like fucking curly fries.” He fumed and felt yet more tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

 

“I didn’t plan this, you know. I mean, I’d thought about kids someday, in the way you do when your parents make those hints about ‘when you have kids one day, you’ll get it’.” He shook his head hard. “I kind of gave up on that after the supernatural clusterfuck began, figuring what kind of person would I be to bring a child into this while it’s still so dangerous?”

 

“And then!” he continued with a slash of his hands through the air, “Then I get involved with you two, and I think, ‘Well, I’m with guys, so I guess maybe we’ll adopt someday if we ever want to.” because I know we didn’t talk about it, and it wasn’t a serious-serious thought, but it was there. And now!”

 

Another flailing gesture, keeping Chris and Peter on the periphery even as he could feel the concern and panic and, just a little, hurt along their mate bonds. But he couldn’t stop, the words just kept coming out.

 

“Now! Now I’m not just a freak of magical nature, but that spark makes _this_ ,” he pointed at his belly, “a possibility. One I wasn’t ready for. I’m getting a Masters degree! I have a thesis to finish! How the fuck will I explain this?”

 

“Stiles, we will figure something out,” Peter soothed, hands held out as if approaching a dangerous creature.

 

Of course, when Peter got too close he got static-zapped, which made him jerk back and hiss. Chris kept his distance and waited with quiet patience.

 

Stiles spoke with quiet conviction, “Yes, well, I need some time. I’m gonna stay with Dad for a bit. Fuck.” He chuckled. “I have to tell my father that I’m having a kid, and no woman was involved in the making of this production. Fuck my life.”

 

Stiles took a deep breath. “Look. I love you both, so much, so much that it’s almost crazy. We are mated, we are bonded, this is a thing we are. But I wasn’t expecting this, and I need some time to figure things out. Okay?”

 

When they came forward to embrace him, he let them. He leaned into them, shook in minute tremors, and let them stroke his back and hair.

 

“Stiles, I love you. You can have whatever time you need. We’ll be here when you return,” Chris whispered. He was in the habit of staying quiet, but when he did say something, you knew he meant it.

 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Peter crooned, and Stiles couldn’t choke back all of the tears, a few escaped to stain Peter’s shirt. “Go to the Sheriff, get your head straight, and if you need to talk to us, you know where we are. Just. Text to say goodnight?” His voice trembled.

 

“Yeah, babe, of course,” Stiles promised. “Yeah.”

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

“Hope you don’t mind me--”

 

“Son, you are always welcome here. I knew something was wrong the second you started talking on the phone, and--”

 

“We need to talk, Dad.”

 

John nodded, waved Stiles into the living room. “I figured. What’s going on?” He sat on the couch, and Stiles sat on the coffee table.

 

“This is gonna sound really weird. Like, weirder than anything else you’ve heard.” He winced, stomach twisting once again.

 

John had a look of disbelief plastered on his face. “Really?” He paused, thought, asked, “Even after werewolves, evil fox demons, and threesomes?”

 

“Yeeaaah.” Stiles drew out the word. How the hell could he explain this? “I. Well. You see, Deaton. Um.”

 

“Spit it out.”

 

“I’m pregnant,” he blurted, and his dad sat back with a thump.

 

“You’re what?!” John squawked, his voice high pitched enough to make Stiles wince.  

 

“I am carrying your grandchild. Or grandchildren.” He frowned down at his belly. “We don’t know yet, but didn’t twins run in Mom’s side?”

 

“Yeee-ah. Yes, they did. Um. Pardon me for this, but how the hell did this happen?” He raked his fingers through his hair, eyes bulging in a way that worried Stiles.

 

“Dad, stay calm. Apparently, through the magic of, well, magic, because Peter and Chris and I are different kinds of...people...it made this a possibility.” Stiles cleared his throat. “We all found out about this today.”

 

“What’re you going to do?” His dad leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. “What do you want to do?”

 

Stiles’ mind went blank. “I. Don’t know. What are my options? I guess I should’ve asked Deaton that, but I--” he cut off, coughed. “Dad, I didn’t know how to handle it earlier, and I still don’t. Can we...can I have some time?”

 

“Yeah, sure, of course. C’mere kid, we’re going to get through this together. Your guys, they’re standing by you?” He pulled Stiles to the couch and tucked his head under his chin.

 

“Mm-hmm. Peter and Chris will go with whatever I decide, though we haven’t. Talked, yet?” Tears leaked out and soaked into his dad’s shirt. “I just wanted to come home.”

 

“Well, I think you should talk to them, but I understand that you need some time to come to terms with this. You hungry?”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t get to eat earlier. Kinda hurled.”

 

“‘kay, well, what do you want to eat? Chinese? Pizza? Curly fries?”

 

Stiles groaned. “Don’t even say that last one. That’s what made me puke.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“You said it.”

 

“Pizza?”

 

He heaved a sigh, thought about it. “Why not? But I want at least three veggie toppings on it. Less cheese. That way if it makes me throw up too, at least I won’t feel terrible about you eating it.”

 

To their mutual relief, the pizza stayed down, and John gave Stiles a gentle rub on the back before he headed up to bed.

 

He whipped out his phone and stared at it. What did he say? What was he supposed to do now?

 

_To: Squishy Wolf, Cuddle Muffin_

_> Hey guys. I wanted to say gnite. Love you both. Stay safe, okay? We’ll talk soon._

 

_From: Cuddle Muffin_

_> Love you too. All that sounds good. Got your 6._

 

_From: Squishy Wolf_

_> You’ll be home again soon? That’s good. I love you too. Be careful. And don’t worry. We’ll work everything out. We have your back. _

 

He smiled down at the nearly instantaneous responses. Those guys. They were really the loves of his life. He couldn’t be happier.

 

A glance down at his stomach made him swallow hard. Couldn’t be. But maybe he could?

 

He thumped back on his pillow and started counting. His thoughts were going to roam around his head all damn night unless he focused on something.

 

Of course, whether this news was a dream or a nightmare, he hadn’t yet figured out.

 

:: :: :: :: ::

 

His chair rotated in slow circles as he glared at the ceiling. Despite every reservation. Despite the fact that he was scared shitless. Despite the fact that he’d spent two hours upon waking kneeling at the porcelain altar. Pizza didn’t taste as good in reverse.

 

He wanted this kid. Or these kids. He’d have to ask Deaton. He’d have to ask Deaton a lot of things, but first he needed to have a chat with his guys.

 

He left a note for his dad that read, _Gone to talk to hubs. Thanks for being awesome. And for pizza. Talk to you soon about what we’re doing._

 

Before he started driving, he sent out another text.

 

_To: Squishy Wolf, Cuddle Muffin_

_> Coming home. _

 

_From: Cuddle Muffin_

_> I’m here. Toothy will be bad soon._

_> Shut. Back soon. _

_> Shit, you ducking phone_

_> Fucking!!!!!1111_

 

By the end of that sequence Stiles was howling against his steering wheel, grateful that he hadn’t begun driving yet.

 

_From: Squishy Wolf_

_> I’m at the store. I may have turned on predictive text on daddy’s phone. Shhh. _

 

Stiles wiped away his tears of mirth. He should’ve know that something would bring him back, set his equilibrium again. No matter what, his guys had his back.

 

_To: Cuddle Muffin_

_> I’m sure he will be bad, so you’re not wrong. See you soon. _

 

_To: Squishy Wolf_

_> You are hilarious. You’re gonna have to tell him though. Maybe you’ve earned a spanking. _

 

_From: Squishy Wolf_

_> Hope springs eternal. Be home soon. _

 

_To: Squishy Wolf_

_> Me too. _

 

_From: Squishy Wolf_

_> Which one? _

 

_To: Squishy Wolf_

_> I think the answer to that is yes. ;) _

 

Stiles parked the Jeep and launched into Chris’ waiting arms. The man may not have been a werewolf, but he could always take enthusiastic tackle hugs. Thank fuck, because Stiles really needed those.

 

Hands cupped under his ass, Chris carried Stiles in while the boy buried his nose just under his jaw and pressed kisses on his pulse. “I missed you.”

 

“You were only gone for one night,” Chris protested, but he tightened his grip anyway.

 

“You going to help bring things in?” The voice from the doorway sounded tired, but relieved.

 

“Mm-hmm.” Stiles nodded, tapped Chris’ shoulder, and landed on his feet. “I’ll help.”

 

“No, you can--” Peter began, but Stiles talked over him.

 

“I can take in groceries. I’m not an invalid.” He stuck his tongue out at Peter as he left, smacked his ass as he passed.

 

Peter squawked, and satisfaction warmed Stiles from top to bottom. Always had to keep that brat on his toes, really.

 

Once the foodstuffs were away, Stiles curled up on the couch between his men. They didn’t talk yet, and Stiles had no idea where to start.

 

Which is of course why he spoke first. “So I’m having a kid.”

 

“You’re keeping it?” Peter blurted, eyes wide and hopeful.

 

“Yes, I’m keeping them. Them, because I don’t know if they are a boy, a girl, multiples, whatever. They aren’t an it.” Stiles poked Peter in the side.

 

“You know we support whatever you wish to do. It’s your body, and this situation was definitely unexpected,” Chris pointed out, and threaded their fingers together, his other arm draped over Stiles’ shoulder so that he could also touch Peter.

 

“I know. I know, and I thought about it, but guys, I wasn’t joking. I wanted kids, whether we adopted or had a surrogate. I want kids. I definitely want _our_ kids. If this happens more than once. Which.” He shrugged. “Who knows?”

 

“Okay. We’ll figure this out. Your dad knows now, which is good. Now to tell the rest of the pack.” Chris heaved a sigh and his eyes went hazy as he thought about it.

 

“Who wants to tell Derek?” Stiles asked, and laughed out loud when Peter choked.

 

Stiles leaned back against Chris and propped his feet in Peter’s lap. “I think this calls for a foot rub. I think they’re swollen.”

 

Peter aimed a sardonic look in his direction. “I see the demands have begun already.”

 

Stiles beamed and nodded. “Oh yes. They have. Especially since I can’t fucking stand my favorite food right now. But I wasn’t lying, my feet are killing me.”

 

Peter nodded and started. When Chris kneaded his shoulders, Stiles melted into his lap with a moan. “Okay, this works really well. You guys can stop in three, maybe four, months. To switch places, of course, not to stop completely.”

 

When they went to bed that night, after a dinner of fettuccine alfredo that actually didn’t make Stiles nauseous, Peter pillowed Stiles from behind while Chris curled around Stiles’ legs, his face just level with the younger man’s belly.

 

Stiles shivered when he ran calloused fingertips across the smooth skin there, and then Chris started talking in low, susurrous tones. A knot of emotion lodged in his throat just listening to the man.

 

“Hey baby. You’re going to be so loved, you won’t even believe it. And we’re going to tell you so much about all of your family. You’re so special, _mon petit_.” The French rolled out of Chris’ mouth and Stiles whimpered.

 

Fuck he loved it when Chris spoke French. Peter cradled the back of Chris’ head as the man pressed kiss after kiss over where the baby was.

 

And then Peter murmured, “You’re going to be exceptionally beautiful, full and round with our child.” He let his free hand wrap around Stiles’ throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a collar of warmth and security.

 

Chris let out a hum of agreement, and moved further down, mouthing over where Stiles showed just how interested he was in where this position could go.

 

Stiles arched, trapped against Peter by his hand, wanting only to go deeper into the warmth of Chris’ mouth. When that rough hand came up to toy with his balls, he whimpered.

 

“Please, Chris, don’t tease!” he begged, and Peter chuckled.

 

“You know how he likes to torment us. Still, Daddy, I think our lover deserves some consideration.” He made a noise in his throat, low and questioning, before he squeezed one of Stiles’ pert, perky nipples. “I wonder if these sweet, puffy things are going to provide milk.” He squeezed again, the other one this time, and Stiles gasped for air.

 

“Peter, you--I--please!” He didn’t even know what he was asking for, other than to come. He really, really wanted to come.

 

Chris teased at his slit, leaking precum already, and took him all the way down until his nose pressed to Stiles’ pubes. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” He tried to squirm, managed a little before Peter wrangled him again.

 

“Shh, shh, stay still baby. We’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” Peter whispered against his cheek, and Stiles pouted.

 

He liked moving, enjoyed moving above and below his lovers. This stillness they required was new.

 

New, and somewhat thrilling. They hadn’t done much in the way of bondage, but now…

 

Chris pulled off, smacked Stiles’ inner thigh, and two slick fingers worked at Stiles’ entrance.

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Pay attention, Stiles. You know I don’t like it when your thoughts wander in bed.” Trapped in that wicked blue gaze, Stiles couldn’t look away from Chris.

 

“Sorry, sorry, won’t happen again. Fully attentive, Sir.” Chris’ eyes flashed with nothing more than desire, but that was enough for Stiles. The fingers that stretched him disappeared, and then the slender length of Peter’s cock made its way into him in one slow, slick move.

 

Stiles whined, high and pitiful, when Chris took his cock again, sucking with such enthusiasm that Stiles knew he wasn’t going to last long.

 

Peter didn’t have to move much, just fast little thrusts up whenever Chris went down. A few minutes of that delicious torture and Stiles groaned long and deep, the pleasure gathering at the base of his spine before he clenched around Peter and his whole body went tight.

 

Chris licked his lips after he swallowed, and Peter rolled Stiles to the side, slid out of him with a wet sound that made Stiles blush. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His skin buzzed with every delicious sensation, his ass ached, his nipples were still so fucking sensitive.

 

And then Chris prepared Peter, pushed him back onto the bed and ranged over him, pushing into his body with that thick cock of his. Peter couldn’t talk, could barely breathe, and Stiles loved watching Chris make the werewolf lose all control.

 

When Peter came, his cum reached all the way up his chest, and his eyes glowed the fierce blue of a beta werewolf. Chris bared his teeth and growled at Peter, who bared his neck, waiting for the bite.

 

Chris obliged, teeth gripped around the skin just above Peter’s collarbone, and humped into him, still on the edge. When his low groans turned into fast grunts, Stiles knew he was about to come, and he slid a hand over Chris’ ass, teased between his cheeks, then went lower to press.

 

Chris came with a shout, hands gripping Peter so hard he might actually bruise for an hour or two, his cock shoved so deep inside the werewolf that his eyes were almost crossing.

 

They lay in a panting heap, Stiles overwhelmed not just by his own pleasure but the secondary enjoyment he got just by watching. Whenever they came, he’d feel the pulse of it inside of him, where his spark lay bright and shining.

 

He didn’t doubt they could work some major sex magic. In fact, he guessed the baby could be considered a product of that. But that was something to think about later.

 

Stiles licked at Peter’s chest, getting what he could of the mess, maybe biting Peter’s nipple in retaliation for before, and because the surprise-Peter-squeak was undeniably cute.

 

Chris was the one to get up and get a damp cloth to clean them all up. Stiles slithered to the middle, his usual spot, and let his men gather him close.

 

He shivered, thoughts and anxiety trying to overwhelm him again. Chris kissed his nape, Peter nuzzled at his forehead, and both stroked warm, comforting hands over his body.

 

“Stiles, it’s going to be okay. We’re going to be here for you. Whatever comes, we’ll handle it,” Chris said.

 

Stiles felt Peter nod before the wolf added, “We’ll handle it all together. Promise.”

 

“Okay. Okay, I know I can trust you. I love you guys.”

 

They snuggled in around him, letting him sneak one foot out so it could twitch rhythmically on the bed and rock them all to sleep, since even in sleep Stiles couldn’t stay still.

 

“We love you too,” they whispered together, and Stiles fell asleep to the sound of their breathing.  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come flail with me on [Tumblr](http://denaceleste.tumblr.com)! About, well, anything really! I'm easy. :P


End file.
